Sugar and Spice
by Get Wisdom
Summary: Malfoy and Granger escapades. Snow dance. Chocolate child. Backstabber. Lone-wolf. Honey and pepper. Howls in the wind. You have it all. Mostly drabbles and one-shots, with a scattering of AU's. DMHG
1. Snow Globe World

**Disclaimer: **All rights to JKR. Duh.

**Submitted for HPFC Secret Santa: **To Rosie. Hope you like it!

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><p>"Life is not made up of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years, but of moments. You must experience each one before you can appreciate it."<br>― Sarah Ban Breathnach

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><p><span><strong>S<strong>**now** **Gl****obe ****World**

Perhaps the most eagerly anticipated event of the year, (apart from maybe the Weasley Twins' annual Prank-O'-Professors), was the first snowfall. There was something about the gently falling flakes, soft and downy like silver feathers, that drove the students' absolutely nuts. I had given up on finding the _Why's_ of it a long time ago.

To me, snow was cold. And wet. And it melted in your socks. As far I was concerned, it was useful for only one purpose: snowballs. Nothing – and I mean _nothing_ – could beat a well-aimed, well-thrown snowball to the face.

This was why, (while my classmates made complete chumps of themselves, rolling around like toddlers in the freezing powder), I bundled up from head to toe in preparation. Barricading myself behind the protective barrier of a stone ledge, each year I set about preparing the largest amount of magic snowballs to thwack at unsuspecting first years and Gryffindors. Both were the same in my opinion.

It was in my fourth year that I found the perfect snowballing spot. The open-air window ledge of the South Tower was sheltered enough to protect me from the freezing wind while keeping me safely hidden for sneaky snowballing sessions at the same time. It was a pure stroke of genius. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier.

Several bulls-eye worthy snowballs later, I loaded another powder-soft ball to the tip of my wand… and had just aimed it precisely at Weaselbee's pathetic little head… precision… momentum… just a little bit more…

"Ahem!"

I started. The snowball jumped off of my wand, and backfired onto my face. Spluttering, coughing, blinking snow out of my system, I sent a death glare which would have roasted a full-grown cow on the spot, straight at the culprit who was doubled up in laughter.

"What the _hell_, Granger!"

She grinned. "I may say the same to you, Malfoy. You should have seen your face!"

"Not what I meant!" I snapped.

"True. Not what I was going to ask either." She chuckled. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm randomly sitting on a tower ledge just waiting for my impending fall off the edge. What does it _look_ like?"

Her eyes narrowed. She took stock of the pile of snowballs lying on the ledge, and a lightbulb seemed to go off in that super-brain of hers. (Well, not really, since the snowballs made it _obvious_.)

"You're throwing snowballs at innocent people?!"

"Merlin, no!" I gasped. "I'm not throwing snowballs at innocent people! I'm just knitting Potter a woolly blanket to keep his tiny toes warm from the cold!" I rolled my eyes.

She frowned as she crossed the last couple of steps to the window ledge. Conjuring a snowball to the tip of her wand, she turned to look at me, head cocked to one side, considering. Then she smiled a small smile.

Swift as a snake, she raised her wand… Comprehension dawned on me a fraction too late… _Thwack!_

For the second time that day, I coughed snowball out of my lungs. "That's it," I gasped, spitting snow out of my mouth. "You are dead."

And I lobbed a snowball into her chocolate crows-nest hair, cutting her laugh short.

][][

The next hour was a blur of snow. White powder puffs exploded everywhere, raining snowflakes all over. The hall was scattered with snow flurries and I really hoped that Filch would be too preoccupied with the cheery, happy-go-lucky bullshit-ness of Christmas when he found out. Granger's hair was caked in snow, and even my perfect locks were slowly starting to freeze and dishevel simultaneously (though I had no idea how both could happen at the same time).

Her coffee eyes, which were normally narrowed (well, at me anyway) were alight with amusement; she was throwing snowballs at me rather than a billion different curses. Slight improvement (though that last snowball hurt like hell).

She had snowflakes on her eyelashes. Pretty. I mean, well, not bad.

Finally, it was down to one last snowball. This one was a monster, the mother of all snowballs. Whoever got it would be the clear winner.

And I would _not_ let her beat me in my home game.

Silence and narrowed eyes. She was on one side of the orb, I was on the other. Pacing her movements, I mentally flicked through every snowball tactic and cheat sheet I had come across in all my years of snowballing.

But, then she blinked. Those damn little snowflakes batted against her chocolate eyes. And I stared a fraction too long.

There was a _Splat!_ and suddenly soft white was everywhere.

That peal of laughter again. I was flat on my back, spluttering, there was a tangle of russet curls, a flurry and I was trying to blink and there was a hint of a smile and she was crowing and I was still trying to figure out what just happened.

One thing was crystal clear: the snowball trophy was so not mine. Gah.

A slim hand came into my peripheral vision as she hauled me up.

I had just lost a snowball fight with the Gryffindor Princess who just _happened_ to be a mud– er, a Muggle born at that. And on top of it, she helped me up. Double gah. My day just wasn't getting any better.

"We should do that again sometimes," Granger said grinning. "Since, you know, I'm proving to be quite good at this snowballing thing."

I scowled, huffing. "Yeah right. You won only because I let you."

Her responding smirk would have made any Slytherin both proud and envious. It was a devious twitch of lips, a flick of one eyebrow, those warm chocolate orbs smiling back at you with mischief written all over them. A dimple as big as a sunken cherry popped out on one cheek and her whole face lit up like a Christmas tree.

In short, it was a side of little Miss. Granger I had never seen before.

And, though I really didn't want to, my own mouth lifted up in response. For the first time in the History of the Malfoy Bloodline, I, Draco Malfoy, was smirking back at a Gryffindor and a muggle-born one at that. What's more, it was Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor princess and best-friend of Pothead at that. It was a miracle.

Well. Anything was possible in a Snow Globe World, I guess.

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><p><strong>Reviews are as loved as swirly hot chocolate with marshmallows on top…<strong>


	2. Cookies and Cream

**Disclaimer: **All rights to JKR.

**Submitted for HPFC Secret Santa: **Alys! Merry Christmas! xx

*Note - For anyone who's curious, Draco would be around 6 years old.

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><p>"Pull up a chair. Take a taste. Come join us. Life is so endlessly delicious."<br>― Ruth Reichl

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><p><span><strong>Cookies and Cream<strong>

The rich, sticky aroma of gingerbread warms the air. Draco gulps. From his perch behind a shiny, green belted wax elf, he lifts his nose in the air and breathes huge gulps of the buttery, gingery deliciousness. _Mmmmm_. There was nothing like the just-baked, crispy-sharp, sticky-chewy, soft-warm smell of gingerbread to spell Christmas.

Trays upon trays of gingerbread men freshly baked and looking spick and span in their red, green and blue frosting lined the table. They seemed to be beckoning him, begging him to eat them. _"Come eat us, Draco!"_ they seemed to be saying. _"Don't we smell delicious? You know that we'll taste absolutely delumptious… Like getting into a warm, melty, gingerbready, buttery bath of loveliness… Just eat us. Go on!"_

Draco gulps again. Mummy had told him to _Not Touch The Gingerbread!, _but… but… just one teeny tiny nibble couldn't hurt, right? A teensy, definitely-not-big-enough-to-be-noticeable bite? She'd never know. He slowly inches his hand out, feeling softly along the top of the table… searching… searching…

"RARR!"

Something pounces on his arm, and he cries out in alarm as he feels himself being jerked out like a scraggly kitten. "Aargh!"

"Got you!" Mum squashes him in a hug while Draco (rather unsuccessfully) tries to wiggle out.

"Mum!" he whines. "We're _outside!_"

"Alright, keep your hair on." Draco imagines Mum rolling her eyes into his hair. She gives him a kiss before letting him go.

He shuffles guiltily, knowing what would come next. And _three_… _two_… _one_…

"What did I tell you about the gingerbread, young man?" Mum taps him on his head with her ever faithful batter spoon. (Draco had mixed feelings about that batter spoon. It was delicious to lick clean, but _Ow! –_ its knocks were hard.)

He stares at the red and white tiled floor. "Erm… to not touch it?"

"And what were you doing right now?" Mum's face is scrunched up in that extra-special look she has especially for moments like these, but her eyes twinkle slightly. She's not _angry_-angry. Phew.

"Well, I wasn't _touching_ it," he insists. _More like trying to eat it,_ he adds in his head. And _eating_ doesn't specifically count as _touching_.

"No? I'm sure," Mum says drily. She picks up a tray to take to the front of the shop, but stops to smile crinkly-high at him. He can't help but smile crinkly high back at her. "Well… I did leave some cookies out for you but since you're a naughty little boy who likes to _eat_ cookies without _touching_ it…"

Draco blinks. HOW did she know? She always seemed to know everything! It was so unfair!

But, priorities. Cookies. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gabbles. "I-won't-do-it-again-mum, promise! Can I please, please have the cookies now?" He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him, trying to keep up with mum. "Pleeeeease?" He pouts, widening his eyes innocently.

"Don't take food I bake for the shop again," Mum warns. "The cookies are in the back kitchens, just ask –"

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Draco sings, speeding off.

The back kitchen of Honeydukes are, in his opinion, where all the interesting things happened. Plump Martha dipped chocolate balls in syrup; girls with their hair bundled in caps made the strangest of sweets in a matter of minutes; Twisty-Wendel filled the cockroach clusters with nasty surprises; other girls made mint-caramels, and sugar-puffs, and strawberry-hearts. But Mum's job was baking. And boy, it was the perfect job for her because her baked sweets were the most delicious: delicate cupcakes with wintry frosting, pink and white candy-cane macaroons, vanilla-and-chocolate fudge which melted in the mouth, her famous sticky-chewy gingerbread and, of course, her delicious cookies.

Mum's homemade cookies were wonderful, but the ones she made for Honeydukes were, beyond a doubt, amazing. Draco was already looking forward to sinking his teeth into some cookies.

As quietly as possible, he made his way to mum's station where there was a bag of cookies. His eyes shone when he saw that they were not just any cookies, but her special extra-chocolatey, extra-gooey, chocolate chip cookies with giant chips. _Double y__um_. He snags the bag with a small hop, weaves through the milling candy-makers (accidently knocking a few elbows), and makes his way back to the main shop. The best place to eat anything during Christmastime was behind the huge Christmas tree in a side section of Honeydukes.

Draco sinks down with a sigh onto his usual spot, underneath the giant conifer. The smell of pine is overwhelming, but it was better than being squished under a million shoppers' feet. After all, nobody looked for sweets inside a tree. He had just opened his bag and plunged his arm inside to reach the treats, when he hears a rustle.

He freezes. There's another rustle. He whips his head around to see that he is not alone in his haven after all. Somebody else has squeezed under the conifer branches to get to the secluded back.

She's small, not much older than him, wearing a red coat, white scarf and grey snowboots. Brown curls spill out from beneath her green cap looking like a tangle of chocolate coils, and equally brown eyes peered at him with curiosity. "Who are you?" she asks interestedly.

"Who are _you_?" Draco asks, a trifle annoyed that someone else had discovered his secret spot.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she says. "Did you know your hair looks like silver?"

"Yes, I did," he replies, surprised. "Your hair looks like chocolate. I'm Draco Malfoy by the way."

"Hello Draco Malfoy." She takes one of her curls into her hand and looks at it. "No one has called my hair chocolate before. They usually call it a 'crows-nest'."

"Well, it's a little of both I guess. –" (she frowns) "– Where are your parents Hermione Granger? And what are you doing in my spot?"

"They're shopping for presents. I came here because I got bored. I came under the tree because I was getting trampled by grownups –" (this time, he frowns, because it is a surprisingly valid reason)"– What have you got there?"

"Cookies. My mum made them." Draco takes a huge bite out of a cookie, chewing it slowly, savouring its warmth. Yum again and again. He swallows and looks up to find Hermione Granger watching him wistfully.

He suddenly feels awkward. Grudgingly he asks, "Want one?"

"Yes please."

Reluctantly, he holds the bag out to her. She takes a cookie, but the look of bliss that spreads across her face when she bites into it is almost comical. "_Mmmmmmmmmm_. This. Is. Perfect." Her smile would have lit up a room. "Thanks Draco Malfoy."

"No problem, Hermione Granger."

And it was queer, but Draco found that he didn't mind sharing the cookies with her. Cookies make for lifelong friends. Friends who bonded over conversations were close; but friends who bonded over extra-gooey chocolate chip cookies were all-time.


End file.
